Winds of Change
by Daniel Monteray
Summary: He knows that it's not fair for him to take it out on her but he can't stand the sight of her; she is a constant reminder of the woman she has replaced. He doesn't bother with curses, instead raising a fist as he straddles her. He needs to feel the pain of his chafed knuckles smashing against bruised bones, feel the life bleed out of him. He wants the punishment. He needs it.


**Winds of Change**

**.01**

Their orders had been simple.

Tartarus was to eliminate Lamia Scale.

Everything had been going smoothly. His cyclone had taken out most of the guild and the two of them had moved in as the remaining members had scattered in a defensive formation.

Tempesta had gone to fight the ice mage and his female partner while Minerva had taken on Jura. They had gotten separated at some point thereon but he had been confident that they would win. They were demons after all.

And as the winds cleared, he was left standing in the midst of the wreckage, cool eyes flickering about as he searched for his partner.

It had taken him a moment but he had spotted her leaning back against the remnants of a brick wall, Jura's body lying some ways away from hers. He had never contemplated that Minerva was injured, least of all dying, as he had made his way slowly towards her. He had merely thought that she was resting; after all, it had been one of the most powerful guilds in Fiore.

It was only when Tempesta had stopped in front of the female that he had noticed the hole in her chest.

* * *

Eyes snap open and he bolts awake, sweat coating his bare chest. He drags a hand across his forehead, wiping away the perspiration and he rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, groaning as the vivid memories floods into his head. He rips off the covers and storms out of his room, a hand running through his damp hair.

He can't take it much longer.

**.02**

Bloodied fists slam into the sandbag repeatedly. Blood is flowing freely from his hands, staining everything a brilliant crimson red. He doesn't feel the pain though, the adrenaline having dulled his senses. With a roar, he unleashes one last punch, putting all of his strength and weight behind the attack.

The demon stumbles backwards, chest heaving and doubled over as he gasps for breath.

It's the middle of the night and he's exhausted but he can't sleep; he hasn't been able to in a long while.

He remembers everything, every single detail and it comes to him every night.

He's standing there, eyes unwavering and face unreadable as he stares down at her. There's a gaping hole in her chest and there's blood everywhere, blood on her bare skin, blood on his hands, blood pooling around her.

Red. Everything is red. And all he can see is red.

Kneeling down in front of her slowly, he takes her shaking hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. But his mind is in complete turmoil and he doesn't know what he's feeling right now. His thoughts are jumbled and he can only make out flashes of anger, disbelief, _pain_. The shock finally overrides his system and his defence mechanism kicks in, rendering his expression emotionless, the only sign of discomfort shown by his clenched jaw.

Tempesta remains kneeling before his partner in absolute silence and it is only when the light fades from her eyes, when the last breath escapes from her lips, that he straightens up, eyes darkening and mouth set in a grim line. Then, he turns around and vanishes in a whirlwind.

* * *

He slams into the sandbag, feeling his shoulder jar at the impact, and he resumes his venting.

He can't take the feeling, the _madness_.

Something inside him has shut down. It has for a while.

He takes missions one after the other without rest; it is the only thing keeping him from his haunting thoughts. Whenever he is too beat up to continue, he would drag his broken body to heal in the tanks because it is only then that he can get any sleep. Training and carrying out missions become a daily routine, one that he is hesitant to deviate from lest it breaks him out of his self-induced stupor.

But with the lack of missions at this point in time, he's pulled back into reality and the true gravity of his situation crashes down upon him like a tidal wave once again.

He drops to his knees, eyes closed, completely drained.

He needs to remain calm and level headed.

He needs to maintain control.

Control of the latent anger and frustration simmering in his chest.

Control of his actions and his expressions so as to avoid manipulation.

Control of the madness swirling in his head.

He needs to maintain control over his mind.

But he can't.

It's a curse and it's _his_ curse alone.

**.03**

The world continues to turn with or without her and it hits him hard how little the others care.

Certainly Kyouka had been furious at the loss of her pet but she had soon turned her sights on recruiting a new human to convert into a demon. The other Gates don't even blink an eye and he swallows bitterly when he understands why Minerva never thought he had cared.

It hurt because _he_ had cared. He really had, but he has never been the kind to display much emotion. He can't, he lacks the understanding and memories to do so. And even if he does, he won't, not when it leaves him open to manipulation.

He shakes his head in a futile attempt to clear his mind.

Disorganized thoughts plague his mind and run rampant in his head; he's so caught up in his fear of memory loss, so tied down by his fear of manipulation that he's almost bordering on paranoia.

At times, it's a faint buzzing in his head like a never-ending headache; at times, it's an empty, hollow feeling in his skull, pounding and clawing and eating away at his mind, the pressure building up almost to a bursting point until he can't stand it anymore. It is then his control over his emotions slips through his grasp like sand and he lashes out at whoever or whatever is unfortunately near him.

He can never escape it.

He sees things that trigger it within him; long forgotten yet strangely familiar things that spark a distant memory for the briefest of moments before it slips away again. It's like watching pieces of himself break away, wither and die with every breath he takes, with every beat of his stone cold heart.

He's creating new memories every day but at the same time, he's forgetting.

He's losing himself over and over again.

He doesn't trust his guild mates - he's skeptical of what they have to say about his previous self's life and so he distances himself from the others, keeping their interactions to a minimum.

He's so _scared_.

But she had been different.

Minerva didn't have any knowledge of his past life and that lessened the leverage she had over him – she couldn't manipulate him. And since the two of them had to master their powers, they had often trained together.

The other demons had looked down on the hybrid but he had no reason to. He had no memories of anything, the only thing he could trust was his own judgement and he had taken it upon himself to judge her with his own eyes rather than by others' standards.

In small, unseen ways, they had come to an understanding.

But he still doesn't know what they are.

They've have had the occasional casual sex but they're not lovers. They're not friends or allies either but there had always been something more.

There was just something _more_.

Tempesta closes his eyes wearily.

He's on edge, fatigued, almost as if he's shouldering the weight of the entire world with no means to deal with it.

The pain crushes his chest, suffocating him but he doesn't understand it, he can't identify the feeling. It's this constant sinking feeling, something in his chest free falling to the depths of his stomach before the feeling disappears as suddenly as the drop. Then it returns out of the blue and it feels like some sort of emotional roller coaster ride, where one moment he's alright and the next he's just falling. The pressure is maddening and he's driving himself crazy thinking about it.

He's slowly driving himself insane.

**.04**

Tempesta slams the newest recruit against the wall and unleashes a flurry of attacks on her. He doesn't give her time to recover, to catch her breath. He just pummels her, allowing the rage, the feral instinct within him to emerge.

He's hard on the newbie, his training sessions with her bordering on abuse. He knows that it's not fair for him to take it out on her but he can't stand the sight of her; she is a constant reminder of the woman she has replaced.

But she's nowhere near as powerful as Minerva, nowhere near as intelligent.

She just isn't Minerva.

But he takes care not to allow the demon within to consume his mind. Like her predecessor, the newbie is a half-breed and if he goes overboard, there is no way Hell's Core can revive her like the rest of the pure blood demons can.

He swallows, choking down the lump in his throat, and he throws the limp body of the female onto the ground.

She's bleeding profusely, twitching on the ground and he straddles her, fist raised. He doesn't bother with curses. He needs to do this the old fashioned way to avoid any fatality, but more importantly, so that he can feel the pain of his chafed knuckles smashing against bruised bones, feel the life _bleed_ out of him.

He wants the punishment.

He needs it.

* * *

**A/N: **Still not quite sure what relationship I want Tempesta and Minerva to have. I feel like in Tartarus, those two have the potential to become closer and develop a sort of understanding. Part of me wants to ship them but part of me likes the idea of them having a platonic relationship, perhaps with casual sex mixed in. We'll see.


End file.
